ROSAMON D.

AN

OPER A.

Infcribed to her GRACE the

Dutchefs of MARLBOROUGH..

He quos durus Amor crudeli tabe peredit
Secreti celant Calles, et Myrtea circùm
Sylva tegit.

Virg. Æn. 6.

A Copy of VERSES in the Sixth Mifcellany,

TO THE

AUTHOR

OF.

ROSAMON D.

-Ne forte pudori

Sit tibi Mufa Lyræ folers, et Cantor Apollo.

By Mr. TICKEL L.

E Opera firft Italian mafters taught,

THE

Enrich'd with fongs, but innocent of thought.

Britannia's learned theatre difdains

Melodious trifles, and enervate firains ;
And blushes on her injur'd ftage to fee
Nonfenfe well-tun'd, and fweet flupidity.

No charms are wanting to thy artful Song, Soft as Corelli, but as Virgil Arong.

From

From words fo faveet new grace the notes receive,
And Mufic borrows helps, fke us'd to give.
Thy ftile bath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new;
Their cadence in fuch easy found convey'd,
That height of thought may seem fuperfluous aid;
Yet in fuck charms the noble thoughts abound,
That needlefs feem the fweets of eafy found.

Landskips how gay the bow'ry grotto yields,
Which thought creates, and lavish fancy builds!
What art can trace the vifionary fcenes,
The flow'ry groves, and everlasting greens,
The babling founds that mimic Echo plays,
The fairy fhade, and its eternal maze,
Nature and art in all their charms combin'd,
And all Elyfium to one «view confin'd!
No farther could imagination roam,

'Till Vanbrugh fram'd, and Marlbro' rais'd the Dome.

Ten thousand pangs my anxious Bofom tear,
When drown'd in tears 1 fee th' imploring fair:
When bards lefs foft the moving words fupply,
A feeming justice dooms the Nymph to die;
But here fhe begs, nor can fhe beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring Swans complain)
Each verfe fo fwells, expressive of her woes,
And ev'ry tear in lines fo mournful flores 3

We,